


My Shallow Heart's the Only Thing That's Beating

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:23:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sam doesn’t want to be here.</i>
</p><p>After Jessica’s death, Sam joins his brother on the road and he’s got to face demons – the real ones and the ones that live inside of him. No matter how hard he fights, he fails, and the feelings for his older brother he carries take over him and everything becomes messy and complicated. What would <i>you</i> do if you found out you were in love with your brother? What would <i>you</i> do if you found out he loved you back?</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Shallow Heart's the Only Thing That's Beating

Sam doesn’t want to be here. That’s the only thing he can think about, sat in dad’s car – well, it’s Dean’s now – alone. Dean pulled over to a diner, because he wanted something to drink, but Sam didn’t. The only thing he wants is to be someplace else. Anywhere. He wants Jess back – even though he knows that’s impossible – and he wants to sleep. Sleep for so long that he wouldn’t wake up again.

He can’t do this. He’s ninety percent sure he can’t do this.

He’s not a hunter – he’s not Dean. Sitting in the car, listening to Dean’s favorite music and ignoring the heavy rain outside, he sadly realizes that the reason he wants to leave is because he actually wants Dean. He’s always wanted Dean. And that’s disgusting.

Before he can hate himself even more, the door open with a creaking sound and Dean stuffs himself in, swearing under his breath.

“It’s awful outside, man. I got us some pie, though,” he says and rolls his wet jacket down his shoulders, throwing it to the backseat. 

Sam doesn’t say anything to it, which gets him a sarcastic remark as a response. Sam shrugs it off, though, getting lost in his thoughts again as Dean starts up the engine. Yeah, being a lawyer would have been nice. Spending the rest of his life with Jess would have been nice as well. But all he’s got is Dean’s Chevrolet and sarcastic remarks and feelings he’s always tried to forget about, but they’re there nevertheless.

~

Sam is actually a bit relieved to book a room at an old motel. He’s definitely not a fan of creaky beds and broken air conditioners, but it’s still better than trying to find a comfortable position in the backseat of a car.

“I’m gonna fall unconscious or something,” he announces groggily and falls into the bed face-first. He breathes in the scent of mint soap that’s oddly nice and not fitting with what the motel looks like at all. He wishes to bury his face in the pillow forever. He really, really isn’t used to travelling all the time anymore.

“Yeah, good luck with that. I’m going out,” Dean says after a few moments and basically runs out of the room.

Sam props himself up on his elbows, staring at the old wooden door for good fifteen seconds. He’s confused, not really knowing what to make out of Dean’s strange behavior, but he decides to forget about it when he hears the engine roar and Dean’s gone. _He took too long to pull off,_ Sam thinks with a frown, _I guess he just had to set up his music first._

Sam takes a long shower, practically wasting all the hot water. Whatever, Dean should have been here if he wanted some of it. He then retreats back to his back – _his_ for just one or two nights until they solve the case and then that’s it, they’re moving on, he doesn’t even have a home anymore – and he falls asleep within minutes, the exhaustion taking over him. His sleep is dreamless and he’s honestly thankful for that – better than nightmares about his mom or about Jess. Better than dreams about Dean.

Dean’s laughter is what wakes Sam up later, though. He glances at the clock, seeing it’s half past two in the morning, and groans. He rubs his eyes as he gets up from the bed and stumbles over to the window to look outside.

Dean is obviously busy. He’s busy shoving his tongue down some girl’s throat. Sam blinks a few times, always opening his eyes to see how Dean holds the girl trapped between his body and the Impala. Sam’s mesmerized. He stares and he acknowledges how quickly the blood runs through his sinful veins. All he can think about is how it would feel to be that girl. He can almost feel Dean’s fingers dig into the skin on his hips and he has to close his eyes for a second, holding his breath.

When he opens them again, Dean’s wearing a smirk on his face and says something – probably goodbye, since the girl smirks back and waving her hand stupidly, she turns her back on him and leaves.

It’s only then that Sam realizes he should go back to bed right about fucking now. He runs back, hitting his right toe on the bed’s leg painfully. He hisses in pain but climbs back to bed, throwing the sheets over his suddenly hot body. He rolls onto his side and closes his eyes, pretending to be asleep.

~

“Did you notice anything unusual? Did your husband have any enemies?” Sam asks, trying his best not to sound bored. He’s not really bored, actually – he’s just damn tired. He didn’t manage to fall back to sleep at all and even now, interviewing a young widow that he should find attractive but doesn’t, he can’t stop thinking about it all.

“No, I didn’t… And I don’t know about any enemies. Richard was a good man,” the woman answers and brings Sam back to reality.

He looks up and purses his lips in a supposedly thankful and apologizing way. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Haward,” he says and gets up from the couch. “We’ll keep you informed. Thank you so much for your time.”

She nods and leads Sam out, smiling at him before closing the door.

Lying. It’s become something so natural and easy that he doesn’t hesitate for a second. He’s always got the right answer up his sleeve; he always knows what to say and how to keep playing. That’s all he’s ever done, anyways. He lies to strangers, he lied to his father about his reasons to leave, he lies to himself.

~

Sam meets Dean for dinner.

“Anything helpful?” Dean asks and orders a burger with beer, giving the waitress a lop-sided grin. 

“Not at all. You?” Sam stares at the menu, doing everything in his power to avoid looking at his brother’s face. He feels like he’s about to blush, Jesus fucking Christ.

“Nah, me neither. This random guy from the victim’s work said Hawards were just going through a divorce, but that Haward chick looked sad enough to me, so who knows.” The waitress places a plate in front of Dean and shares another smile with him. He takes a bite the moment she leaves, though, looking unconcerned. “Maybe they went back to sex just before someone chopped his head off.”

“Yeah, dude, thanks for that image,” Sam laughs nervously and orders a veggie salad, which, of course, gets him another sarcastic commentary. He slides down in his chair and playing with the napkin, he says, “So, you, uh – had fun last night?”

And even though he regrets asking right away, it’s interesting – and amusing, in a way – to watch the change on Dean’s face. In one second, he looks careless and completely caught up in eating. And in the next one, he forgets to chew for a moment and then it’s _his_ face that heats up and turns dark red. He forces the blush and the expression to go away and his careless face is right back. If Sam hadn’t been looking intently, he wouldn’t have noticed anything – but he is watching and he notices. 

“Uh, man, sorry if I woke you,” he says at last and his lips form a grin. “But y’know. What a man’s gotta do, a man’s gotta do.”

“Sure,” Sam says back and the spark he’s seen, the spark he’s _felt_ – it’s gone. Dean is back to his normal self and the same flirtatious waitress smiles at Sam as she puts his veggie salad on the table. But he honestly can’t make himself smile back. He just feels the need to get away again, pulling him from this place. It’s ten times stronger than last time and it begins to hurt.

~

He always thought that it would feel odd to rub his skin against Dean’s. He just assumed that there would always be guilt racing through his mind, unnerving and killing, trying to make him stop. But it’s nothing like that.

When he slides his hands down Dean’s sides, resting them on his hips, it feels good. It feels as good as nothing has ever felt before. He drops down to his knees, swallowing hard, and he looks up to see Dean’s face. His eyes are almost closed, his eyelashes fluttering in pleasure. 

“Dean,” he breathes out, almost as if he couldn’t believe this was really happening. And he really can’t. He pushes against Dean’s hips, feeling him push back, and he has to fight a whimper. He’s wanted this for _so long,_ every single inch of Dean’s body he gets to touch makes his dick fucking throb. 

“Jesus Christ, Sammy,” Dean mumbles and runs his fingers through Sam’s awkwardly cut hair. “If you knew how long I’ve waited for this…”

“Me too,” Sam cries out and buries his face in Dean’s thigh, brushing his face against his brother’s skin. No, this isn’t sick. It isn’t sick at all – it doesn’t feel that way, it feels amazing. 

Everything is happening too fucking fast after that. Sam keeps his eyes open when he takes Dean into his mouth. He’s trying to make it _good_ for Dean, even when this is the first time he’s doing this. He hollows his cheeks around Dean’s hard cock, moaning around it a few times, and when he feels Dean pull at his hair, he closes his eyes and swallows everything like a good boy.

Dean pulls him up for a rough kiss, and Sam whines and begs. His older brother stuffs his hand into Sam’s jeans, making Sam gasp, and-

And that’s when Sam wakes up. Facing another morning is always difficult, but after a dream like this, it’s almost unbearable. Sam wants to close his eyes again and maybe vanish completely, pretend that he never actually existed. And this morning is twice as hard also because there’s a hard-on in Sam’s pants and it doesn’t go away even after thinking disgusting things and trying to talk it off in his mind. 

Sam checks on Dean on his way to bathroom. Yeah, he stayed out until three in the morning again, the only thing that could wake him up now is probably a vacuum cleaner. And that’s not sure, either. 

And so Sam locks himself in the bathroom. He slides into the shower, turning on the hot water. He feels fifteen all over again, locked up in the bathroom, rubbing out an erection that no one could know about. Even he’d be grateful if he could just forget about the whole thing. He feels fifteen all over again, thinking about Dean, hating himself for it, trying to run away from it. He feels fifteen all over again, hurtfully trapped in a cage he can’t find an escape from. 

After he comes, he leans his back against the cold shower wall and slides down, until he’s sitting on the floor. He feels pathetic when he buries his face in his hands, letting the water hit his back while he sobs quietly. 

This is ridiculous. His mind must be twisted; he’s so fucking sick – what person that is mentally normal would ever fall in love with their brother? No one would ever do that. No. He’s sick, and he’s so fucking stupid. He thought that if he ran away from this and found himself a nice, normal girl, this thing with Dean and what he felt for him would simply go away. But of course it didn’t help. He can meet dozens of girls and neither of them will ever be as good as Dean. Trying doesn’t fucking matter.

~

“We’re running in circles,” Dean sighs, browsing through the internet, trying to find anything that could help them out. It’s been four days and they have solved exactly _nothing._ They don’t even have any more clues to hold onto.

“Maybe we should just leave,” Sam suggests and shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe it was just some sicko that decided to stop by in this town and kill someone. For all we know, they could be in Montana by now.”

Dean hums in response and sighs again, closing his laptop after a few more minutes. He spares a look at Sam, who is lying on his bed, pretending to be caught up in a book. He’s actually been staring at Dean’s back the whole time, but Dean, of course, doesn’t need to know that. He actually _can’t_ know that. 

“Whatever, man.” Dean gets up from the table, putting on his old leather jacket. “I need some distraction, I’m going out.”

“Again?” Sam asks and it slips out of his mouth before he can control his words. He feels like slapping himself, but it’s too late, because Dean stops mid-step and turns around to look at him. He looks surprised to be stopped and asked this, almost as if someone caught him off guard. 

“What, you got a problem with it?” he asks back with a raised eyebrow, but his voice is so small and silent that Sam almost wants to say _yes_ and spill out everything. But oh Lord, even an infant would know that that would be fucking stupid; therefore he just shakes his head and makes a grimace. 

“I mean, whatever, Dean. I’m just gonna stay here and work some more.” With that, he rolls off the bed, leaving the book behind, and falls on the chair that’s still warm from how Dean sat there for hours. 

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs and moves towards the door again. “That’s what you always do.” 

Before Sam can ask what’s that supposed to mean, Dean rushes out of the room and closes the door behind him. It’s like a bunch of weird, mysterious stuff gathering all around Dean, and Sam is not able to tell what it all means.

~

After wasting some more time just thinking about Dean and how he never used to act like this (three random hook-ups in one week? That’s just not him, Sam knows), Sam actually gets to concentrate and focus on their work entirely. After a few minutes, he ends up on the weird side of the internet, that’s partially just really freaky and scary at times.

He somehow stumbles across a page about mythology; one of those pages that are not really qualified, it’s more just fans gathering the stuff together. But the Winchesters know that these sites are actually more helpful than others. 

He comes across a creature that’s called “The Atalanta Lion”. 

_Zeus turned Atalanta and her lover Hippomenes into lions, who could mate only with leopards. “The Atalanta Lion” is therefore a woman who has been betrayed or cheated on; or a woman who cannot share her love with the one she once loved for any reason. It’s a curse spread mainly around Ohio and can touch women who have been cheated on or felt betrayed by their lovers’ behavior. Atalanta Lions can be killed with a wooden stick, driven through their left or right eye._

To be honest, Sam doesn’t think much of it at first. It’s just another creature for him, nothing special; Greek mythology is insane, Zeus was insane as well, wooden sticks are nothing extra-ordinary for him. Only a few minutes later, clicking his way to yet another website, he has an epiphany. 

Where are they? _Ohio._ Who has been killed? Richard Haward. Was he married? Yes. Was it a happy marriage? Richard’s colleague said it wasn’t, but his widow was _mourning._ And also flirting with Sam just a few days later. Is it possible that Richard cheated on his wife and they were indeed going through a divorce? Is it possible that Richard’s wife felt so much betrayal and sadness that the curse spreading around touched her and she then proceeded to kill her husband? _Is that possible?_ Sam doesn’t need to be a reincarnated Einstein to realize that _yes, that is possible._ That is, most likely, the truth. 

He considers going to the club and getting Dean to help him, but in the end, he decides against it. He doesn’t need help – he can do this alone. There’s nothing about driving a stick through some chick’s face. He can totally do that. He’s still got rage inside of him from when Jess died. 

He has to walk, because Dean has taken the car with him. Well, at least he doesn’t plan on drinking. He remembers the way to the Hawards house well and the town is not too big, which means he’s there within twenty minutes.

Wooden stick is not a problem as well. Get a branch, break it in half, drive it through someone’s heart or whatever is in reach. 

Mrs. Haward looks quite surprised to see Sam at her doorstep – or, well, she knows him as secret agent Thomas. 

“What can I do for you at this hour?” she asks and leans against the doorframe. Sam doesn’t miss that she’s wearing a bright-red lipstick and a tight dress. She was probably just about to go out.

“I was hoping you could invite me in and have a drink with me,” he suggests, biting the inner side of his cheek. He’s not good at this; he cannot seduce anyone. He’s nervous. It’s kind of a wonder that Jess noticed him and even went out on a date with him – it was a wonder that she fell in love with him and the emotion was strong enough to keep her blind. She never saw that Sam wasn’t truly in love with her; he was just grateful to be offered a normal life. 

“I feel like I can’t say no to you,” Mrs. Haward answers with a smirk and waves her hand to let Sam know she wants him inside (no pun intended). 

It takes three or four steps until he walks in, Mrs. Haward closing the door behind him. He turns around, seeing the sly smile dancing on her lips, and fakes another smirk as well. She must be blind or she must be really attracted to him; she would see it’s all just a game otherwise. Sam may be good at lying, but acting is different. He’s never been a good actor and since he spends his nights thinking about his brother, it’s quite difficult to look like he’s interested in a woman. 

She leads him to the living room, carefully resting her hand on his back on their way there. 

“You should call me Jessica,” she says in a low voice and Sam inhales sharply before he’s able to sit down on the couch once again and look like he’s happy to be here. 

If there’s a God – whom Sam likes to believe in, because what else would he have left? -, he’s an evil player. It stings to hear that name again; or, well, to hear a woman say it. It sort of felt like there was only one single Jessica in the whole world, and she died. But it seems like there’s one more and she’s a killer. 

“Right,” he utters and brushes his palms against the denim of his jeans. “I hope I didn’t interrupt you or anything – “

“I know why you’re here,” she cuts him off, suddenly pulling out a knife from who-knows-where. It must have been hidden in her bra or underwear; there’s no chance she would manage to grab it from the table or anyplace else. 

“Uh, Jessica, I think this is–“ he tries, but fails. Of course he fails. He really isn’t a good actor.

“Shut up,” she spats and he gasps when he watches her change. Her pupils turn dark yellow and the lines of her face sharpen – even her hair breathes with yellow now – brownish, almost – making her look like an actual lion. When he quickly drops his gaze to check, he sees claws. Not to mention her teeth; they look a lot more dangerous when she hisses. It’s kind of astounding, because the change happens within three seconds, but also – fuck, he’s totally screwed. 

He puts a fight, that’s true. He tries his best to squeeze Jessica’s wrists; he even manages to get on top of her for a second before she pushes against his shoulders and basically throws him across the room. She’s way stronger than she seems. She’s almost like a demon, except she can be killed with a wooden stick. With a wooden stick Sam tried to hide in the inner pocket of his blazer, but Jessica finds it during their ‘fight’ and throws it across the room as well.

Sam ends up tied up in a chair. He’s surprised to see Jessica turn back to her human form – maybe it’s part of her play, he has no idea. He just knows that this was the stupidest thing to do – he should have called Dean, he should have waited. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if he’d find his death here. 

And, well, thinking about that, he wouldn’t mind so much. What else is out there waiting for him? Perverted thoughts, memories, Dean. That’s all. Sam knows Dean would go on without him. Really, would it matter so much if he just died here?

But on the other hand, if he truly wanted to die… Would he try and fight back? _Would he?_ And isn’t it too late to ask this question, now, when Jessica’s pressing a knife under his chin again? 

“Winchesters,” she hisses with a weird accent he didn’t notice before. “It took me five minutes to realize who you were. Where’s your brother, huh?” 

Sam swallows hardly and blinks a few times, feeling a drop of sweat run down his temple. “He’s not here,” he pants, trying to do better this time and confuse her. “We parted ways. Just leave him out of his.” 

Jessica lets out a high-pitched laugh, shaking her head. Sam notices that her hair is still somewhat glowing, as if she was ready to change to her lion-like form. “Silly,” she exclaims and travels down Sam’s neck with the blade. “I know he’s in town. I’m just asking why he isn’t here to save your ass.” 

“Leave him out of this,” Sam repeats again, desperately. It must show off in his eyes; the fear and the hopelessness he feels inside of him. She smiles, cherishing it, and straightens up a bit. 

“You’ll never know if I do leave him out or not,” she comments and licking her bottom lip, she digs the knife into Sam’s skin a bit, cutting it open and making it bleed. It stings and it hurts, but Sam’s not capable of feeling the pain right now – all he can think about is if Dean will be safe, because, in the end, that’s always been the only thing he cared about. No matter how hard he tried to deny it. “You’ll be dead when I decide.”

And, okay, he’s just about ready to sacrifice himself just for the sake of Dean’s survival. 

“Why did you kill him?” he spats out instead, his breathing too quick. It’s like he can’t just give up; it’s like there’s some weird string inside of him, maybe the string of will, and someone keeps tugging at it, making him want to go on. It feels like it’s impossible to just give up – yeah, Jessica could simply ignore him, but there’s also the possibility that he’ll distract her and maybe think of a plan. That’s what he needs. A plan. 

Jessica huffs out a laugh, “’Cause I could,” she explains and pulls the knife away, toying with it. “Because that fucker deserved it. He cheated on me with a motherfucking waitress. He _cheated_ on me!” The rage builds up in her body again, making her claws visible again and her teeth sharpen. 

“But that happens,” Sam tries to argue, knowing it’s quite pointless. Of course it happens – what happened is not even her fault. It’s the curse that’s taking over her, not her true self. In lots of ways, Sam can relate to her, however strange that sounds – in the end, he seems to be cursed as well. He wouldn’t be in love with his _brother_ if he wasn’t cursed. “That doesn’t mean you get to kill people.”

“Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?” she spits out, pressing the knife against Sam’s skin again.

She’s obviously tired of their little game and means to do it this time; to actually kill him. He can feel it; the knife is merciless. In his mind, he just laughs weakly at himself and closes his eyes to get ready for the pain and for the death somehow.

What he isn’t ready for, though, is Jessica’s surprised shriek and then her body collapsing on top of him, the knife falling from her hands and making a bloody scratch down Sam’s neck. 

He looks up, his breathe stuck in his throat – even though he’s not really aware of holding it back, he just does – and lays his eyes upon Dean’s scared face. That’s the right adjective – _scared._

“What the fuck, Sammy?” he asks with a shaky voice and hurries towards his brother, throwing Jessica’s dead body off of him and untying his wrists and ankles. “You just don’t disappear like this. You don’t just go to kill a monster on your own. You just don’t do this!”

“I’m sorry!” Sam acclaims and rubs his wrists when they’re free, avoiding looking at Dean’s face. He expected to be dead – he didn’t expect he’d have to face guilt; he’s not prepared for this. “I didn’t – I didn’t think.”

“I bet you didn’t,” Dean comments as he gets up to his feet again, pulling Sam up and into a surprisingly tight hug. “Damn, I thought I lost you,” he murmurs into Sam’s hair, ruffling it. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again, you understand? Or I’ll have to bring you back from dead and kill you again.” 

Sam laughs and forgetting everything for a second, he relaxes and hugs Dean back. He can’t help it then and he breathes in Dean’s smell, which consists of cologne, sweat and something that may be booze, considering he just got back from a pub. It’s awfully easy to get lost in Dean’s touch, but he regains his sense of responsibility soon and pulls away. It’s weird, but something tickles him near his wound and he can’t help but think that it was Dean and his lips brushing against his skin.

He shivers and pushes that thought aside, realizing it’d be stupid to even think that.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says again and runs his shaky fingers through his hair. “Won’t do that again. How did you know I was here, anyway?”

“Well,” Dean shrugs and looks away. “I got back to our room and you left the laptop open. So I checked the site and it was kinda easy to figure out where you’d gone.” 

“Right,” Sam nods and looks down to stare at Jessica’s body for a second. Another Jessica, dead again. He looks away when he notices the wooden stick coming out from her skull. Dean must have been _furious_ if he managed to run it through. Is that even human? 

“Come on. Let’s take care of her,” Dean mumbles and kneels beside her body carefully, taking hold of the stick. Sam sighs and trying not to notice Dean’s hands and how beautiful they are, he bends down and helps.

~

Surprisingly, they’re still in town the next day. Even Sam, still kind of unable to believe what happened the night before, gets up and goes to the pub. Dean, however, goes to the club instead, almost as if he couldn’t stand Sam’s presence.

Dean is the one to take the car. Sam, to be honest, wouldn’t even dare to ask for the keys. That means he has to walk and considering he’s taking his time, he gets there in ten minutes. 

After he orders a beer, he checks his wallet and swears under his breath when he realizes he left almost all of his money at the motel. That means only this one beer and then he’ll have to go back. Shit. For once, he actually feels like interacting with new people and he forgets his fucking money. He actually feels like he could hook up with a random girl – he hasn’t felt this way in months. He feels like he could forget about Dean and Jessicas (yeah, plural, because both have left a mark on him), but he can’t.

Seriously, fuck his life. Fuck his life so hard. 

And so it happens that he leaves in less than an hour. After he finishes his beer – which is not really good, to be honest – he tries to just sit there and look around, but he starts to feel uncomfortable after a couple of minutes and paying for the drink, he leaves. 

His pace is slow once again. In his mind, Sam goes back to the night before – even though what happened with Jessica had invaded his dreams, there is something else that bothers him even more. 

It’s the suspicion that Dean kissed him – or at least brushed his lips against Sam’s skin. Truth be told, it still makes Sam shiver. It might have been accidental, that’s true, but what if – No, stupid. Of course it was accidental; if it was even real. Maybe he was simply in shock and he made it up. Why in fucking hell would Dean kiss him?

Sam reaches up with his hand and touches his neck, hissing in pain when he scratches the not healed wound with his nails. He wants to think otherwise, but he honestly thinks that Dean _did_ kiss him there, almost as if he wanted Sam’s pain to go away.

Anyways, he gets back to the motel in ten minutes. He opens the door with the card (he hates those, he’ll never understand why can’t people just use _keys_ at hotels and motels anymore) and turns on the light before he even properly walks in.

Which, obviously, is a huge mistake. If not the biggest mistake of Sam’s life. (Although that would probably be falling in love with his brother, but still.) 

He definitely does not expect to see Dean having sex. He snaps his palm over his eyes, mumbling a frantic, “Sorry!” and he backs out the door, shutting it. It takes him about five seconds till he’s able to pull his hand away and make his way towards the old Impala. He leans against it and stares into nothing, trying to comprehend what he’s just witnessed. 

It’s not that it hurts – although that feeling is nagging at him as well – it’s that it sends shivers down his spine. Dean had only his t-shirt on. Sam finally, _finally_ had the chance to look at his naked body. And even though it was just five seconds, maybe even less, it’s now craved into his brain and Sam knows he’ll search for this memory every time he wants to feel good. Every muscle in Dean’s body was moving, and oh my God, Sam can swear he heard _moans._ And it wasn’t just the girl. 

Before he can get hard from thinking about it, the door opens again and the girl walks out. He doesn’t even glance at Sam, just disappears from the area. 

Sam bows his head, staring at his feet. He doesn’t know whether Dean expects him to get inside now and talk it out or if they already finished and it was so unattached and cold that the girl simply left. He doesn’t know. But seeing the woman walk out somehow pushed all the wrong thoughts away and brought everything else. Brought the pain. 

Sam will never have this. No matter how sick he feels for even thinking this, he _wants_ Dean. It’s not like he can do anything about it. He can spend hours blaming himself and eating guilt and hate for lunch and for dinner; but he’ll still want it. He can’t fucking help it. 

He’s surprised when Dean comes out as well and joins him quietly. 

“So…” Dean trails off, burying his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing his old leather jacket, almost as if he couldn’t take a step without it. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Why would you be sorry for that?” Sam mumbles, keeping his head low. “It’s my fault, I should’ve checked if your car was here.”

“It’s awful that it means I’m having sex if there’s a car parked outside,” Dean comments and huffs out a laugh. Sam frowns, but doesn’t look up. He’s not so sure if he likes where this conversation is heading or not. “I can’t believe what I’ve become. Ever since you joined me…”

“So you’re saying it’s my fault that you hook up with everything that has boobs?” Sam asks in disbelief. He knows he sounds like a jealous girlfriend and even though that’s exactly what he doesn’t want to sound like, he doesn’t manage to hold the sentence back and bite his lip instead. He knows that’s what he should have done.

“Kinda,” Dean admits and laughs again, running his fingers through his short hair. “I wish you’d understand, Sammy. But… I can’t even tell you.”

“You can’t tell me what?” Sam breathes out and turns his head to look at Dean’s face from behind the curtain of his hair. His haircut looks really stupid, but it at least helps in situations like this. The expression on Dean’s face is unreadable, though. It’s a mix of various emotions and it creates such a mess that Sam is not able to get it at all. 

There’s a silence in which Sam hates himself for asking and he hates himself even more for getting his hopes up. But he’s still got the feeling of Dean touching him in his mind and he just can’t shake off the thought that maybe, just _maybe_ Dean feels the same about him. That he lives in the same nightmare as Sam; that he hates himself as well. But he doesn’t expect it to be true, to be honest. Until – 

“I can’t tell you, Sammy, because you would hate me for the rest of your life,” Dean answers in a weak voice, almost as if he was tired of feeling this way. And somehow, Sam knows he’s right. He knows that Dean _indeed_ kissed his neck last night. He just knows. Because if he ever decided to tell Dean everything, he would sound exactly like this – tired, like a broken warrior, like someone who just can’t keep up with their own lies. 

“Try me,” Sam says and finally looks up, making eye contact with his brother. He fights the urge to reach out and grab Dean’s jacket to pull him closer. “Dean, try me.”

And maybe Dean can read minds as well, because he blinks a few times and then utters, “I love you, Sam.”

Which should get a response sounding like, “But I love you too, bro,” but of course it doesn’t get such response. Because Sam knows how Dean means this and what he’s talking about. He’s talking about that squeezing feeling in his chest every time they look at each other. He’s talking about the want that keeps him up at nights. He’s talking about the actual _love_ that makes him want to die for the other one. He’s talking about everything and about nothing, about something so forgotten and twisted no one would dare to speak about it in public. 

“Dean…” Sam cuts himself off and purses his lips, looking away for a second. “I don’t… I’ve always felt this way. But I would never… You don’t… You never said anything.”

“Well, it’s not like you did,” Dean points out and gives a small smile, almost as if their conversation wasn’t so damn serious. 

“I guess no one would ever dare to talk about this,” Sam admits and laughs as well. It’s all kinds of awkward – Sam can only think about how fast his heart is beating. This is what he’s always wanted, but now, when it’s actually happening, he can’t believe it. And most of all, he suddenly knows this can’t work. Never. Even if they really wanted it to work, it would just fall apart. This is impossible. 

“Girls,” Sam states, seemingly off topic. “They’re such a perfect escape, aren’t they? Make you stop thinking about things. Or at least, that worked with me. Jess was amazing. When I was with her, I was actually able to forget about you for a minute.”

Dean nods and hits the ground with his shoe a few times. “That’s why I hooked up with basically anyone in the past few days. So I could stop thinking about you.”

They don’t say anything else after that. After a few minutes, Sam moves his hand, wandering in Dean’s direction. He twines their fingers carefully and they stand there for another hour or more, just touching each other for the first time ever.

~

They agree on one fact – that this is a one-time thing and it will never happen again. After this night is over they will separate and that’s it. They know it’s for their own good, even though it hurts almost too much. The only thing Sam minds a bit is that they’re choosing to do it in that old, shady motel room. But he’s not going to complain, no.

They decide to keep the lights on. “Wanna see you,” Dean says when they‘re discussing it and it makes Sam blush wildly. He turns to a sap, it seems, when he says it back and squeezes Dean’s fingers.

Everything feels so real and so _new._ They undress each other and Dean pushes at Sam’s shoulders until he’s lying on his back. Sam shuts his eyes, only capable of focusing on his shallow breathing and on Dean’s fingers that trace the skin around Sam’s knees and then wander up his thighs. 

Dean climbs onto the bed and presses his mouth against Sam’s with a sickening amount of force. Sam exhales sharply and reaching out, he digs his fingers into Dean’s shoulders. When Dean tries to pull away – maybe to say something, maybe to caress Sam’s skin with his mouth somewhere else – Sam chases his lips and deepens the kiss instead. He works his tongue past Dean’s wet lips just seconds later. When he feels the warmth of Dean’s tongue; when Dean’s saliva mixes with his own, he moans and wraps his legs around Dean’s waist.

One hand still resting on Dean’s shoulder, Sam reaches up with the other one and buries his fingers in Dean’s hair, tugging at it from time to time and keeping him in place.

“Sammy,” Dean breathes out and meets Sam’s lips once again, his face flushed and sweaty.

“Don’t call me that,” Sam argues playfully and gives a lop-sided smirk. He rolls them over, straddling Dean’s hips. When their erections brush against each other, Sam groans and leans closer. His hips move on their own and he grinds against his brother’s body. “I’m not a little boy anymore.”

“I know that,” Dean nods and cups Sam’s cheek in his trembling hand. “I know that.”

And suddenly, it all makes sense. All the love, all the affection – it’s their father’s fault. They had to spend their childhood together; Dean had to take care of his little brother and he was someone Sam could look up to – but not a father, not at all. If they had only each other, it would be different, but their father was still there from time to time and it completely fucked up the way Sam and Dean felt about each other. The way they _still_ feel about each other. Their insides are painfully messed up and that’s why it feels so fucking good to be doing this right now. Neither of them will regret this night later.

When they roll over again, and Dean slides his hands down to Sam’s cock and wraps his fingers around it, Sam has to bite down on his palm to make sure it’s not just another dream. But it’s not – the pain is real, it’s there, and so is Dean’s mouth taking Sam in as far as he can. 

Sam’s hips jerk involuntarily and he thrusts into Dean’s mouth, making him gag.

“I’m sorry,” Sam chokes out and fists the sheets instead of moving his body again, his knuckles turning white. 

“Jesus – don’t be,” Dean utters as he pulls away for a second. “I don’t – I don’t mind.” He grins, almost as if he was shy to admit this, and looks down again, taking Sam’s dick back into his mouth. Okay, so deep-throating is definitely not something Sam is used to. He’s never done this before and hearing Dean gagging again as he goes down on him and takes him in until Sam’s dick is touching the back of his mouth is quite awful. 

Well, it’s awful _at first._ He eventually gets used to that sound and after a few more minutes, it disappears almost completely. 

And Sam can’t hold it back anymore. His fingers hurt from squeezing the cotton so hard. He closes his eyes, and “Jesus” falls from his lips as he lets go and moves his hips once again.

Dean moans, making it sound almost appreciative. It sends vibrations down Sam’s dick, and it absorbs to his body and makes every cell realize what’s going on. He thrusts, enjoying the comfortable heat of Dean’s perfect mouth. There’s still a small part of his brain saying that _this will never happen again_ that keeps him from talking dirty. It’s like there’s still something holding his mind back, even though he managed to let his body go. 

Before he can come, he grabs Dean’s hair and even though it almost hurts to do so, he makes him pull away.

“I want you inside of me,” Sam breathes out, feeling a blush creep onto his face. It’s ridiculous to blush in a situation like this, but when he finally talks himself into looking at Dean’s face again, he sees he’s not the only one having trouble with it. 

“Do ya?” Dean asks breathlessly and hovers over Sam, kissing him once more. 

Sam moans when he tastes himself on Dean’s tongue and runs his hands down his brother’s back. “Fuck, yeah. I do,” he agrees, fighting the blush this time.

Being so close and so intimate with each other – it makes him care less and less with every passing second. He forgets about who he is and who Dean is, and only the want and the love are left. He’s been trying to fight these emotions practically all his life – he can finally stop refusing to listen to them. He can finally give in to them. He can give in to the sensation and for this one night, Dean is only his. He can do whatever he wants, and he can say whatever he wants. There’s no one to stop him this time, not even his own cynical, frantic, panicking thoughts. 

“Of course you’ve got lube,” Sam comments and huffs out a nervous laugh. He doesn’t mean it in a wrong way, of course – they’d be lost if Dean didn’t have it. 

“Of course I do,” Dean agrees with a face that says, _I win,_ and moves down on the bed a bit to fit perfectly in between Sam’s spread legs. “Babe, I need you to…” he trails off, pushing at Sam’s thigh a bit to spread his legs even more.

Sam obeys immediately, pretty much just a puppet in Dean’s hands by now. He’s mesmerized by Dean’s use of words – he’d just called him _babe._ It sends shivers down his spine when he realizes what it means, and he suddenly wants to pull Dean up for another messy kiss. He doesn’t want to stop kissing him ever again. But he controls himself and stops himself from doing it, knowing it would only take even more time until they get to the very act. 

“Can I?” Dean asks breathlessly, lube smeared around his fingers.

Sam just nods, not really capable of forming words – not to mention sentences – at the moment. He’s aware of how fast his heart is beating and how much he wants this to happen, but that’s all. 

Dean pushes one finger inside and lets out a breath, hitting Sam’s inner thigh with it. “Damn, you’re so tight,” he comments more to himself than to Sam. “Have you ever done this before? I mean… with a guy?”

Sam swallows and smiles sheepishly when he shakes his head and murmurs, “No. But I’ve always wanted to, I just never – “

“It’s okay,” Dean cuts him off and smiles reassuringly. Sam can’t help but think how much responsibility weights Dean’s shoulders right now, if he’s even able to handle it and not freak out. He can’t even imagine what it must be like to try and have sex with someone who’s completely inexperienced in this area. 

“Thanks,” Sam mumbles and his face turns red again; but then there’s no time to be ashamed anymore. Dean tries and pushes another finger inside, scissoring them. It brings a strange, good feeling – yet somewhat painful and unfamiliar. Sam doesn’t like unfamiliar. Sam likes things that he’s used to – new things scare him and make him fidgety; they make it hard for him to relax. His muscles clench and Dean stops moving his fingers right away.

“Hey,” Dean says carefully and uses his free hand to run it down Sam’s inner thigh. “Everything’s fine. Just tell me and we can stop. But if you wanna keep going, I need you to… I need you to relax, okay?”

They make eye contact, a long one that says everything Sam needs to know. 

It’s not the spoken words that make Sam come to his senses and let go with definiteness. It’s the look in Dean’s eyes, the silent begging for Sam to nod again and let him keep doing this. Sam _has_ to nod; he wants it too much. He could probably shrug off every stupid doubt right now, no matter how persistent it would be. It would mean nothing in the end. 

And so they continue. Sam manages to relax, letting out a deep breath, and Dean moves his fingers again. Within a few minutes, the pain disappears and is replaced with pleasure that makes Sam’s cock twitch.

Soon enough, Sam’s a panting mess, just about ready to ask Dean for more, just being a bit shy for that. And Dean is, well – sweat runs down his forehead as he’s working three fingers in and out of Sam’s soft body. God dammit, he still looks like a boy, Dean thinks and his heart skips a beat. Fuck, he just wants his little brother so much – 

He doesn’t even know when it happens, but Dean’s suddenly got his free hand wrapped around the base of his cock, setting up a slow pace. He’d manage to come like this, he knows he would – just touching Sam, being inside of him simply like this, jacking himself off while shamelessly staring at Sam’s writhing, trembling body. But no, that’s not the point, that’s not why they’re here. They’re not here to fake it or to rush it; they’re here to be together, for one time. And then it’ll be over and Dean would hate himself if he lost his chance like this. He can’t – he doesn’t want to let that happen.

“Wanna – “ he mumbles, but Sam knows what he’s going to say and nods right away. “You sure?”

“Of course I am,” Sam agrees in a raspy voice that sounds almost as if he hasn’t said anything out loud in fucking weeks. “Just… just be careful.”

And yeah, Sam knows it’s totally unnecessary to say this. He knows Dean will be careful, because even though he looks like a strong, carefree dude, he would never hurt Sam. Not in a million years; not accidentally; not at all. There’s not that possibility, it just doesn’t exist in this world. If Sam just mentioned that he wanted to stop this, Dean would pull away without saying a word and accept Sam’s wish. That’s how it works with them. 

It’s too long and too short, too personal and too special to even talk about it as if they were just fucking. 

It hurts at first, of course it does. Dean fills him to the top, making it almost unbearable. Sam whimpers, not able to hold it back, but squeezes Dean’s shoulders and begs him to keep going. And so Dean does.

It takes hours and it takes just minutes all at the same time. Sam’s senses sharpen at first and he’s able to _touch,_ discovering Dean’s body and his sensitive spots. He’s able to _feel_ and he throws his head back when Dean squeezes his dick again and starts pumping it. He’s able to _hear_ his own moans mixed up with Deans and it drives him crazy. He’s able to _see_ Dean’s slightly parted lips, stuck in an unspoken moan. He’s able to _taste_ Dean’s sweat when he leans closer and Sam can lick his chin, his neck and his collarbone. He’s able to _smell_ the sweat. He’s able to do everything in the world, yet he remains in the same spot, too afraid to roll his hips and meet Dean’s thrusts halfway.

This is, in the end, his first time and it will probably also be the last. He tries to remember everything, cut it to his brain with a metaphorical knife, but as he comes nearer to his orgasm, it’s more difficult. 

He realizes he’s shut his eyes close and he grits his teeth, trying not to scream in pleasure and returning pain. Dean can’t control himself anymore, his thrusts being rougher, deeper and harder. But Sam would never stop him, not ever – if it hurts like this, it means it’ll hurt for the next few days. That counts as a memory as well.

“Let me,” Dean chokes out and swallows before he’s able to continue, “Let me hear you.”

“Dean,” Sam moans and it’s supposed to sound like, _No, I don’t think so,_ but it comes out as _I love what you’re doing to me, fuck, don’t ever stop, please._ Sam licks his bottom lip and keeping his eyes shut, he decides to play along. “Just like that,” he breathes out and for the first time, meets Dean halfway. 

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean murmurs and quickens his pace a bit. Sam honestly doesn’t know why, but even though he is completely lost, Dean is still somehow able to keep his hand on Sam’s dick and actually jerk him off.

“I want us to come together,” Sam whines and opens his eyes even though the pleasure is quite hard to handle when looking at the world. It reminds him of reality too much – it doesn’t matter how much he wants to stare at Dean’s face, because he’s so obviously close and drop dead gorgeous.

“I think – I don’t think I can – “ Dean stutters, but before he can finish his sentence, his eyes roll back and he thrusts into Sam’s body, not really controlling it anymore. He tries, he truly tries to do as Sam wanted him to, but on the other hand, it’s still beautiful to see him lose it. 

“Fuck,” Sam mumbles under his breath as he feels Dean pull out and jack himself through the orgasm.

He doesn’t wait for Dean to pay attention to him. Who knows how long that would take? He slides his sweaty hand down his body until he reaches his cock with it and he wraps his fingers around it tightly.

It’s wet from the pre-come Dean smeared around and it’s hot, and slippery. But Sam doesn’t have the time to stop and think about that, because he comes only a couple of minutes after Dean, the last thing he sees being Dean’s flushed face. 

When Sam opens his eyes after the orgasm, he’s surprised to see Dean staring at him. He doesn’t know whether he should look away or keep the eye contact, because the magic of the moment has somewhat disappeared. They’re Sam and Dean again and even though the guilt hasn’t come to wash over them yet, it feels like the peace before a storm. 

“C’mere,” Dean utters anyways and slipping under the sheets, he pets the place beside him and gestures for Sam to cuddle next to him.

Needless to say, Sam follows and presses his sweaty body close to Dean’s. It’s still peaceful when he rests his hand on Dean’s chest, just to feel his quickened heartbeat and to feel his chest rise and fall. He’s in love, he’s always been, and for the first time ever, he doesn’t feel like an outcast for it. It’s rather beautiful to be snuggled like this, with Dean, in one bed. He knows he won’t ever have this again, but he doesn’t care. He hits Dean’s shoulder with his breathe every time he inhales and Dean’s got his fingers tangled in Sam’s stupidly looking, messy hair. 

And yeah, it’s just peaceful. It won’t always be like this; actually, they’ll be like strangers in the morning. But right now, they’re more than happy and no one in the world could ever take that from them.

~

Sam wakes up to the sound of shower the next morning. He’s hugging a pillow rather pathetically and when he moves a bit, just to stretch, his whole body aches. He smiles to himself when he remembers what happened last night and buries his nose in the pillow for a second.

He knows it’s all gone now, but he wants to keep dreaming for a little longer. He doesn’t want his smile to vanish just yet. 

_They slept together._ Sam recalls every time Dean shared with him and shudders at the very thought of it. It could have been disappointing, that’s true – but the thing is, it was amazing. Every single second of their time has captured him in a soft bubble from which he doesn’t want to escape. He wants to stay in this bubble, in this beautiful oblivion, and call Dean’s name to make him come back. 

He doesn’t, though. He gets up instead and whines when his muscles burn, bringing back even more memories. He smiles to himself – this is what he wanted, pain that would last for days – and now he’s got it. It’s beautiful.

Without saying anything, without asking for permission, he sneaks into the bathroom and joins Dean in the shower.

“I know we said one night, but…” he trails off and looks Dean up and down, marveling at his body for a second before trailing his fingers over the hickey on Dean’s left collarbone. 

“Morning showers count,” Dean responds immediately, sounding almost relieved that Sam has decided to come. He wraps his arms around Sam’s middle and pulls him closer, pressing their lips together.

It’s not so rushed and rough and messy as it’s been the night before. Sam’s lips are still swollen a bit from so much kissing and it almost hurts to kiss again, but he’s not going to stop. He even bows his head, wandering his mouth down to find the pulsing spot on Dean’s neck, and he sucks down on it. Dean moans and buries his fingers in Sam’s hair, throwing his head back a bit. 

Sam’s hands slide down Dean’s body so easily that it’s almost unbelievable.

It feels like they’ve always been doing this, but the truth is that they just watched each other live and imagined too many things. To see them come real; to experience them – that’s something else entirely. It’s pure and plain and simple and they’re not thinking again.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Dean mumbles as they kiss again, resting his hands on Sam’s hips. They keep the water on, hitting their shoulders and heads, wetting their bodies. 

They stay in the shower for more than twenty minutes. They exchange handjobs, almost as if they were just high school boys in love with not much time before the first period starts. They don’t talk after that, just a compliment here and there, and touch each other for a few more minutes before they turn the water off and stand out the shower reluctantly. It’s a silent deal that they dry each other with old, raw motel towels. 

Still naked, Dean catches Sam’s hand and brings it up to his mouth, kissing his fingers which are wrinkled from staying in the shower for too long. “Thank you,” he whispers and presses Sam’s palm against his cheek for a second. 

Sam is not really capable of forming an appropriate response to that. All he can think of doing is to nuzzle closer to Dean’s body and murmurs the same words to him, knowing that they’re not even close to what he wants to say with them. 

How does one truly appreciate a reciprocated feeling? Should he write an ode, should he keep repeating ‘thank you’ until they actually part ways, should he just shut up and cover Dean’s body with his? He just knows he would like to do all of those, but can’t do any of them. The reality comes pounding, galloping. There’s no chance of running away from it, not this time – it’s like they made a deal with the Hell’s Horses and now they’re coming for them. And they’ll kill them if they don’t separate. 

And so, after a tight hug, Sam makes himself pull away slightly. He already misses Dean’s skin and the warmth of Dean’s body; the way it feels pushed against his. 

“We need to get dressed,” he points out dryly, with a weak expression on his face.

He didn’t expect he’d be the one to stop this. He spent years and years just thinking about this; he couldn’t imagine he’d be able to simply let go after all of that. But he knows he has to.

After their night together, Sam somewhat comes to his senses. The truth lies in his mind, contented and peaceful this time, not like an instant bug eating up his brain. He’s still filled with the guilt, but it’s resting right now. He knows that separating is the best thing they can do and no, he wouldn’t be able to do that _again_ if they haven’t done this. But they have and even though it still hurts in the most unpleasant way, it’s a bit easier. 

“Right,” Dean utters and lets go of Sam’s hand. 

Sam is the first one to leave the bathroom. He gets dressed in a rush and disappears from the shady motel room after packing the few things he’s got. With his bag hung over his shoulder, he leans against the Impala just like last night and waits. 

Dean takes his time, almost as if it was too hard for him to just walk out of there. Too many memories, too many – But that’s exactly why Sam ran out so quickly. He feels like he couldn’t have just stood there and stared at the old bed that witnessed so much the night before. But he gets why Dean would do that – Dean _is_ that type of a guy. 

But he walks out at last, carrying his own bag and wearing his old jacket. Everything feels normal, despite the knot that’s tightly tied in Sam’s stomach. 

“I could drive you to the bus station,” Dean suggests as he comes closer. It’s kind of natural that Dean is keeping the car, they don’t even discuss it – it’s dad’s and Dean loves their dad way more than Sam does. Besides, he loves the car even more. Even though it means travelling only by buses and trains for a while, Sam would never even bring up the subject of taking the old Chevrolet. 

Sam shakes his head, “No, but thanks. I think I’ll walk.”

Dean nods slightly and circles the car, getting to the door. “Call me, Sammy?” he asks in an unsure tone, his voice almost shaking at the end of the sentence. 

Sam nods, even though he knows he won’t call his brother for the love of God. “I will,” he even utters and fixes the bag on his shoulder. “If you find dad –“

“I’ll let you know, yeah,” Dean cuts him off with a small smile. They’re sort of back to normal, if Sam dares to use _normal_ in this situation. Just a hidden love for each other, not really showing off until something dramatic happens. 

“I’ll see you, then. Take care.”

“You too.” They share one last glance before Dean gets in the car and pulls off, disappearing at the end of the road maybe a bit too soon. 

Sam can’t help but stand there for a few minutes, just looking into the sun. He knows that every touch, every word and every look they shared will forever be burnt into his mind, like an epitaph or a memory that will come to him at the moment of his death. As odd as it sounds, it’s enough. No, wait – it will never be _enough,_ it will never be the way he wants it to be… but as long as he’s concerned, this is as enough as he can get. 

When he finally starts walking, heading in the direction of the nearest bus stop… he’s kind of really happy. Yeah, after months, he even smiles to himself again.


End file.
